I've been quiet. Too quiet...
I've posted but one entry in the month of September. And only 50 all year on this, the 273rd day. I wish I could say that my journal had seen more fanciful swooshes with a pen, but alas it is as sparsely populated as this blog.
Where have I been? There and back and there and back and there and back again. Flying across the United States on Delta or Continental or Midwest earning magical miles that might serve me well on some future vacation to God knows where. In Connecticut. In New York. In Seattle. With stops in San Francisco, Las Vegas, Salt Lake City, Denver, Cincinnati, Atlanta, Minneapolis, and a host of other American cities.
I've learned to become a renter again. The myriad keys jingle jangle on their respective rings. A key for the top lock. One for the bottom. A key for the mailbox. One for the front door. Another for the laundry. I've not yet received the one that will unlock my frazzled mind.
And I've learned how to rent a property. Ants that might be of the carpenter variety. The final water bill listing more than a grand in owed debt, which made me think either the house had hit an iceberg or there was some kind of mistake. It happened to be the latter, though I wonder if I'd be covered if it were the former.
I've relegated myself to dog loving status rather than dog owning. Alas, Buddy is no longer mine. After an 'incident' with a slow moving car, Buddy went primal and high-tailed it at what neighbors described as 'mach 1' to some remote part of Milford, a good two miles away from the grandparents' house. By the grace of God, a woman saw the missing dog poster and called to let us know she had contacted the local shelter. Buddy returned home shaken and a bit scratched around the edges but otherwise fine. Still, I knew I needed to find him a good home. It just so happened that my grandparents' neighbors had lost their dog of 13 years this past year, and they also just so happened to adore Buddy. Well, the decision was easy enough. They, with their fenced yard and two daughters, now have a puppy with whom they can play.
I also find myself, for the first time since I was in the seminary, without a car. Who needs a car in New York anyway with subways, planes, trains, buses, and taxis aplenty. The 2006 Subaru Forester will now carry my parents through thick and thin, especially on their hilly roads in the midst of ice and snow.
I can count a new job and new boss, though I wisely choose to say no more about work within this blog.
And I've begun to move along in those more personal aspects, which will also remain deep within the recesses of the journals I keep.
I have reconnected with family. A niece who, when last I saw her, decided to bring to me penguins and monkeys and phones and bears from her pile of toys. A mother who has returned from the swamps of Florida to battle the soon-to-be-frigid northeast. The old man, who battles with some mysterious and some not so mysterious ailments, all the while cheering that the Red Sox will not be in the playoffs this year. An uncle who has, through remarkable will power, lost so much weight that some don't even recognize him. A brother who works and coaches and sleeps and eats... and who is one of the most devoted fathers I've met. And the list goes on...
And the beat goes on...
A lot of change. And with that change, I give to you yet another look for 'A Life in Days'. I'm somewhere in the top right of that picture... I think. New York is a big town, after all. Everything close is either on your doorstep or a 20 minute walk. Otherwise, it's a $2.25 subway ride away. Unless you're going to Newark International, in which case you want to catch the NJ Transit train from Penn Station for a mere $15.
The night grows long. The bed awaits my precious slumber that I might rise early to get to Grand Central for to journey to the outer reaches of Connecticut. There awaits a game in which the real Huskies have the chance to overcome 'Mr. C' and his brother (and sister) Commodores.
Until next I write...
Showing posts with label Buddy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Buddy. Show all posts
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Monday, April 19, 2010
It's Personal: A Lion
A new chapter begins...
In Seattle, we were not very good about taking the dogs for regular walks. It was difficult for one person to handle both, and we always had other things happening. We therefore set them upon the backyard to play and run to their hearts content. And if not in the backyard, then they went to a dog park.
Well, I haven't found the dog parks in Connecticut yet. And the back yard here is not as conducive to playing. Not to mention the fact that Buddy no longer has his playmate.
I therefore decided that it would be a good idea to walk the dog. And thus, after work, I proceeded to trot the dog from the house, across the semi-main thoroughfare, and into a nice neighborhood - with sidewalks.
Buddy trotted by my side. Well, more ahead of me, upon which I know the Dog Whisperer would frown since it means the dog is leading me. Nonetheless, we meandered along the sidewalks in that neighborhood at our leisure. Buddy stopped to smell trees and fence posts and random patches of grass. He barked under his breath a few times at passersby. And a few other times at nothing in particular.
We then came to a royal blue house. It was obvious that Italians lived there by the three landmarks that graced their yard. The first was a statue of the Blessed Virgin near the house. The second two were small lion statues placed at either end of their property.
We approached the first lion, and Buddy slowed. He looked at it curiously for a moment before trotting up to it and sniffing it. He was waiting for it to move, which it didn't. Well, I hope it didn't.
We traversed the length of sidewalk between the two lions and approached the second. Across from the lion statue - on the other side of the sidewalk - was a light pole. This meant that we had to walk between the light pole and the lion. Well, Buddy was having no parts of that. He looked at the second lion and immediately backed off. I coaxed him forward, but he pulled backward with all his might. I patted his head and rubbed his stomach, telling him it was okay. We took a couple steps again, and he darted backwards, almost pulling the leash from my hand. At this point, I could do nothing but laugh. Something about the second lion - and not the first - completely freaked him out. But I also wasn't going to cross the street just because he was afraid of the lion. I therefore pulled him a bit more forcefully. He began to understand that he needed to move forward. And when that dawned on him, he took off - with me attached to the other end of the leash - past the lion and light pole until he had at least a ten foot distance from them. He then looked back and let forth a muffled growl to let the lion know his displeasure.
And we were on our way again.
I think we'll take that walk again tomorrow...
In Seattle, we were not very good about taking the dogs for regular walks. It was difficult for one person to handle both, and we always had other things happening. We therefore set them upon the backyard to play and run to their hearts content. And if not in the backyard, then they went to a dog park.
Well, I haven't found the dog parks in Connecticut yet. And the back yard here is not as conducive to playing. Not to mention the fact that Buddy no longer has his playmate.
I therefore decided that it would be a good idea to walk the dog. And thus, after work, I proceeded to trot the dog from the house, across the semi-main thoroughfare, and into a nice neighborhood - with sidewalks.
Buddy trotted by my side. Well, more ahead of me, upon which I know the Dog Whisperer would frown since it means the dog is leading me. Nonetheless, we meandered along the sidewalks in that neighborhood at our leisure. Buddy stopped to smell trees and fence posts and random patches of grass. He barked under his breath a few times at passersby. And a few other times at nothing in particular.
We then came to a royal blue house. It was obvious that Italians lived there by the three landmarks that graced their yard. The first was a statue of the Blessed Virgin near the house. The second two were small lion statues placed at either end of their property.
We approached the first lion, and Buddy slowed. He looked at it curiously for a moment before trotting up to it and sniffing it. He was waiting for it to move, which it didn't. Well, I hope it didn't.
We traversed the length of sidewalk between the two lions and approached the second. Across from the lion statue - on the other side of the sidewalk - was a light pole. This meant that we had to walk between the light pole and the lion. Well, Buddy was having no parts of that. He looked at the second lion and immediately backed off. I coaxed him forward, but he pulled backward with all his might. I patted his head and rubbed his stomach, telling him it was okay. We took a couple steps again, and he darted backwards, almost pulling the leash from my hand. At this point, I could do nothing but laugh. Something about the second lion - and not the first - completely freaked him out. But I also wasn't going to cross the street just because he was afraid of the lion. I therefore pulled him a bit more forcefully. He began to understand that he needed to move forward. And when that dawned on him, he took off - with me attached to the other end of the leash - past the lion and light pole until he had at least a ten foot distance from them. He then looked back and let forth a muffled growl to let the lion know his displeasure.
And we were on our way again.
I think we'll take that walk again tomorrow...
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Another Evening to Forget
Seventeen days ago, I told you about the joy of returning home to find our carpet decimated and Buddy attempting to digest the tiny pieces that Cleo had so successfully dislodged.
Since then, we have had new carpet installed. All should be well. It has been, in fact, until tonight...
But wait. Before I can tell you about tonight, let me tell you about my day at work.
Arrive. Get tea. Earl Grey. Work on an e-mail I should have sent yesterday. I craft e-mails; they need to be precise. Or else I spend twice as much time trying to follow up. Anyway, I have a meeting in which we discuss onboarding. A new type of torture implemented by my company. We're in the Darth Vader building after all. That's an hour. Painful. Next a status meeting. A project that's ready to deploy. Today, in fact. We were to deploy at 3:30. Fine, fine.
Pause
Continuing to craft the e-mail. And other stuff. E-mails fly at my inbox like rabid pigeons. I answer each volley. But like a hydra, the e-mails spawn more. This constant admin gives way to a strategy meeting. Cringing. Stomach in knots. Lunatic perceptions and darksome conclusions. I won't elaborate here. Not yet. It ends, thankfully, and I move to counter yet more e-mails with my vicious backhand.
Coughee with Tara. I vent.
Weekly status meeting with a client in OK City. He likes to talk. On to a status meeting for a project that boggles the mind and soul. Next I venture to the desk of our deployer - not to be confused with our destroyer - and ask how the deployment of the standardization pieces are coming. The standardization pieces had to come before the other projects that needed to be deployed today. The deployer and the developer responsible for the standardization pieces smile gleefully as they work through some 'small' items.
Another status meeting for another project for another client. Then more work for the client we love to hate. I return to the deployer. Not yet deployed. Impeding the progress of the other project deployments, I say. They know, they know. Another status meeting for another project for another client.
I return a third time. Problems. Problems? I ask. Problems. Damn, both sides of my brain exclaim. The standardization pieces are stuck in environmental limbo. And my other projects won't deploy. Great. Project managers don't look good when this kind of thing happens.
But I have to go. Tutor for an hour. Race to the bus. Sit on the bus. Tired. Walk home. Want to sit and eat and then blog and perhaps accomplish a few other things.
Walk in the door. Ah, the fragrance wafting from the dogs' room. The putrid smell emanating from Buddy's crate. Drag the crate outside. Spray the crate. Spray the dog. Cleo needs food. Feed her. Close Buddy in the garage. Bring him inside. Bathe him in the guest bath tub. Dry him off. He vomitousnesses all over the bathroom floor. Appetizing. He goes back into the garage. Towel the floor. Wash the towels. Clean the bathroom. Notice the overpowering smell is giving me a headache. Start lighting candles and opening windows. Not freezing but cold enough to start turning the hands and feet blue. Check on Buddy. Sick in dribblets in the garage. A little bleach'll do 'em good. Bleach 'em. No, not Buddy, the dribblets. Back inside. Have to take the garbage out. Might as well while I'm cleaning. Cleo surveys my progress; she approves. Walk into the garage preparing the trash. Buddy relieves himself just beyond the potty pads I've laid but not quite on my foot. Enjoyable. I recommend it. Open the garage door. Get the hose. Spray the chocolate colored waste out into the grass. Wrestle Buddy back into the garage where he sits obediently thinking that I'm going to spray him again. He shivers. I clean the crate. Cleo whines when I get back in. She thinks she's missing something exciting. I tell her to go away. Put the towels in the dryer. Shave. Yeah, weird, I know. But it was annoying me. Check on Buddy. Nothing bad. Prepare finances for tomorrow when our checks clear. Yes, weird, I know; we've established that. Check on Buddy. Seems okay. Lighter on his feet. Happier, I guess. I let him in.
He's sitting at my feet as I blog. Haven't eaten yet. Stomach's just about calmed down. And here comes Joseph home from his 6-10 Thursday evening class. I think I'll end here. And maybe eat...
Since then, we have had new carpet installed. All should be well. It has been, in fact, until tonight...
But wait. Before I can tell you about tonight, let me tell you about my day at work.
Arrive. Get tea. Earl Grey. Work on an e-mail I should have sent yesterday. I craft e-mails; they need to be precise. Or else I spend twice as much time trying to follow up. Anyway, I have a meeting in which we discuss onboarding. A new type of torture implemented by my company. We're in the Darth Vader building after all. That's an hour. Painful. Next a status meeting. A project that's ready to deploy. Today, in fact. We were to deploy at 3:30. Fine, fine.
Pause
Continuing to craft the e-mail. And other stuff. E-mails fly at my inbox like rabid pigeons. I answer each volley. But like a hydra, the e-mails spawn more. This constant admin gives way to a strategy meeting. Cringing. Stomach in knots. Lunatic perceptions and darksome conclusions. I won't elaborate here. Not yet. It ends, thankfully, and I move to counter yet more e-mails with my vicious backhand.
Coughee with Tara. I vent.
Weekly status meeting with a client in OK City. He likes to talk. On to a status meeting for a project that boggles the mind and soul. Next I venture to the desk of our deployer - not to be confused with our destroyer - and ask how the deployment of the standardization pieces are coming. The standardization pieces had to come before the other projects that needed to be deployed today. The deployer and the developer responsible for the standardization pieces smile gleefully as they work through some 'small' items.
Another status meeting for another project for another client. Then more work for the client we love to hate. I return to the deployer. Not yet deployed. Impeding the progress of the other project deployments, I say. They know, they know. Another status meeting for another project for another client.
I return a third time. Problems. Problems? I ask. Problems. Damn, both sides of my brain exclaim. The standardization pieces are stuck in environmental limbo. And my other projects won't deploy. Great. Project managers don't look good when this kind of thing happens.
But I have to go. Tutor for an hour. Race to the bus. Sit on the bus. Tired. Walk home. Want to sit and eat and then blog and perhaps accomplish a few other things.
Walk in the door. Ah, the fragrance wafting from the dogs' room. The putrid smell emanating from Buddy's crate. Drag the crate outside. Spray the crate. Spray the dog. Cleo needs food. Feed her. Close Buddy in the garage. Bring him inside. Bathe him in the guest bath tub. Dry him off. He vomitousnesses all over the bathroom floor. Appetizing. He goes back into the garage. Towel the floor. Wash the towels. Clean the bathroom. Notice the overpowering smell is giving me a headache. Start lighting candles and opening windows. Not freezing but cold enough to start turning the hands and feet blue. Check on Buddy. Sick in dribblets in the garage. A little bleach'll do 'em good. Bleach 'em. No, not Buddy, the dribblets. Back inside. Have to take the garbage out. Might as well while I'm cleaning. Cleo surveys my progress; she approves. Walk into the garage preparing the trash. Buddy relieves himself just beyond the potty pads I've laid but not quite on my foot. Enjoyable. I recommend it. Open the garage door. Get the hose. Spray the chocolate colored waste out into the grass. Wrestle Buddy back into the garage where he sits obediently thinking that I'm going to spray him again. He shivers. I clean the crate. Cleo whines when I get back in. She thinks she's missing something exciting. I tell her to go away. Put the towels in the dryer. Shave. Yeah, weird, I know. But it was annoying me. Check on Buddy. Nothing bad. Prepare finances for tomorrow when our checks clear. Yes, weird, I know; we've established that. Check on Buddy. Seems okay. Lighter on his feet. Happier, I guess. I let him in.
He's sitting at my feet as I blog. Haven't eaten yet. Stomach's just about calmed down. And here comes Joseph home from his 6-10 Thursday evening class. I think I'll end here. And maybe eat...
Monday, October 13, 2008
An Evening to Forget
It's 10:30 p.m. (Pacific) Do you know where your children are? How about pets? Do you want mine?
We get home after work last Thursday evening, and what do we find? The dogs have gotten bored and started tearing up the carpet. We see the torn carpet, but there are no pieces of carpet. Why is that?
Let's hearken back to a simpler time. We had just adopted Buddy, and we were told that bedding was a good idea for dogs. So, we get two wool blankets. We put them in the dogs' crates and think nothing more of it. Until we return home from work the following day. Cleo's blanket is fine. But Buddy's? His seems to be torn. He must be tearing at it out of boredom, we think. Well, we were close. He was, in fact, tearing at it. To EAT it. Our genius of a dog decided that he was going to try to eat a wool blanket. We brought him to the doctor. The doctor told us that his stomach was certainly bloated. He also told us that dogs can't digest wool. No, REALLY!!? His advice? Just wait till Buddy throws it up. Meanwhile, don't feed him because nothing will get through.
We paid for that advice?
Fast foward to Thursday. Where were the carpet pieces? In Buddy's belly. We're pretty certain that Cleo destroys the carpet, and Buddy, thinking they're treats, swoops in and swallows them whole. So, we had to wait.
Now, things were getting through - so we noticed - when Buddy was using the outdoor necessary. So, we wondered if it possible that he might actually digest little pieces of carpet.
Yeah, no...
We arrived home today to find him and his crate... well, let's just say, a mess. I bring him outside and spray him down while Joseph tries to air out the house. I let him back in the house, and spray his crate down - which I still have to put back together. Joseph continues with what he was doing. I get back inside. Mayhem. Cleo hasn't eaten and Buddy's drinking water - probably dehydrated from his condition. We let them out so we can square things away. They run around. They run back inside. And Buddy proceeds to grace us with the water he just drank out from the same orifice into which it was originally entered.
Into the garage he went since it had begun to pour outside. More cleaning. Towels into the washer. Joseph cooking. Checked on Buddy. Joseph needed to write something up on his laptop. But Microsoft Word has decided that it will close every time he starts to type. Randomly. And every time. Nice. He comes into the back room to type on the PC.
I turned on the TV. Monday Night Football. The Jints having their way with the Brownies? Nope. Getting killed. I watched them for five minutes and can't believe how buffoonish they looked. Eli utterly lost. Coughlin screaming his reddened face off.
I'm tired, suffice it to say. And I have nothing else to give. I think I'll get out of my work clothes now... just after I rebuild Buddy's crate.
We get home after work last Thursday evening, and what do we find? The dogs have gotten bored and started tearing up the carpet. We see the torn carpet, but there are no pieces of carpet. Why is that?
Let's hearken back to a simpler time. We had just adopted Buddy, and we were told that bedding was a good idea for dogs. So, we get two wool blankets. We put them in the dogs' crates and think nothing more of it. Until we return home from work the following day. Cleo's blanket is fine. But Buddy's? His seems to be torn. He must be tearing at it out of boredom, we think. Well, we were close. He was, in fact, tearing at it. To EAT it. Our genius of a dog decided that he was going to try to eat a wool blanket. We brought him to the doctor. The doctor told us that his stomach was certainly bloated. He also told us that dogs can't digest wool. No, REALLY!!? His advice? Just wait till Buddy throws it up. Meanwhile, don't feed him because nothing will get through.
We paid for that advice?
Fast foward to Thursday. Where were the carpet pieces? In Buddy's belly. We're pretty certain that Cleo destroys the carpet, and Buddy, thinking they're treats, swoops in and swallows them whole. So, we had to wait.
Now, things were getting through - so we noticed - when Buddy was using the outdoor necessary. So, we wondered if it possible that he might actually digest little pieces of carpet.
Yeah, no...
We arrived home today to find him and his crate... well, let's just say, a mess. I bring him outside and spray him down while Joseph tries to air out the house. I let him back in the house, and spray his crate down - which I still have to put back together. Joseph continues with what he was doing. I get back inside. Mayhem. Cleo hasn't eaten and Buddy's drinking water - probably dehydrated from his condition. We let them out so we can square things away. They run around. They run back inside. And Buddy proceeds to grace us with the water he just drank out from the same orifice into which it was originally entered.
Into the garage he went since it had begun to pour outside. More cleaning. Towels into the washer. Joseph cooking. Checked on Buddy. Joseph needed to write something up on his laptop. But Microsoft Word has decided that it will close every time he starts to type. Randomly. And every time. Nice. He comes into the back room to type on the PC.
I turned on the TV. Monday Night Football. The Jints having their way with the Brownies? Nope. Getting killed. I watched them for five minutes and can't believe how buffoonish they looked. Eli utterly lost. Coughlin screaming his reddened face off.
I'm tired, suffice it to say. And I have nothing else to give. I think I'll get out of my work clothes now... just after I rebuild Buddy's crate.
Saturday, September 20, 2008
How I Met Buddy
When Joseph and I adopted Cleo in August 2005, we wondered if we should just adopt two of the puppies to ensure that Cleo had a playmate. But we agreed that we really didn't know how much work it would be to take care of a puppy AND we didn't want to change the dynamic in the house too much or too quickly - the cats wouldn't have forgiven us.
We watched as Cleo grew from a puppy who could fit on my chest to a puppy who could just about collapse my chest.
We enrolled her in puppy classes where she learned 'wait', 'sit', and 'take it' among other commands. We took her to dog parks and for walks whenever we could. At home we loved her and hugged her and played with her in the yard, and she loved every minute. Unfortunately for her, we couldn't play every minute of every day. We had to run errands and we wanted to enjoy some down time, never mind work. She therefore tried her paw playing with the cats, to no avail. The cats tolerated her to a point but then flipped up their respective tails and strolled to their kitty tower for a nap.
Joseph and I saw what was happening; we talked about a playmate for her. But Joseph wasn't as enthusiastic about a second puppy as he was about the first - not that he didn't want a second puppy mind you, but he was content with his little girl - and neither of us looked forward to the puppy issues like potty training, infections, and general training. At the same time, we realized that introducing another dog into a house where one dog already lives can be... challenging. If Cleo were to be overly territorial or protective, then the whole idea could be nixed.
Still, I wanted another puppy. I wasn't in a rush to find one, but I started some time after New Years 2006. Each day during my breaks at work and each night at home, I scanned craigslist and pets.com checking for pets. I saw rats and cats and bats. Okay, not bats. I read about goats and pigs and hens. There were snakes, lizards, tortoises. Even tarantulas. Ick. And of course there were dogs. Great Danes to Chihuahuas. Mutts of every breed.
I checked listings with and without photos. I even contacted a few people. But I had no luck. Until... At the beginning of February, I contacted a couple in Arlington, WA about a dog that they could not keep. The guy was in the navy and was about to be deployed to Iraq. And his girlfriend was pregnant and moving back to Ohio to be with her family. They said that they had rescued the dog from a kill shelter and didn't want to bring him back to that shelter.
After a few e-mails regarding the particulars, they sent a picture of their puppy, Buddy.
We watched as Cleo grew from a puppy who could fit on my chest to a puppy who could just about collapse my chest.
We enrolled her in puppy classes where she learned 'wait', 'sit', and 'take it' among other commands. We took her to dog parks and for walks whenever we could. At home we loved her and hugged her and played with her in the yard, and she loved every minute. Unfortunately for her, we couldn't play every minute of every day. We had to run errands and we wanted to enjoy some down time, never mind work. She therefore tried her paw playing with the cats, to no avail. The cats tolerated her to a point but then flipped up their respective tails and strolled to their kitty tower for a nap.
Joseph and I saw what was happening; we talked about a playmate for her. But Joseph wasn't as enthusiastic about a second puppy as he was about the first - not that he didn't want a second puppy mind you, but he was content with his little girl - and neither of us looked forward to the puppy issues like potty training, infections, and general training. At the same time, we realized that introducing another dog into a house where one dog already lives can be... challenging. If Cleo were to be overly territorial or protective, then the whole idea could be nixed.
Still, I wanted another puppy. I wasn't in a rush to find one, but I started some time after New Years 2006. Each day during my breaks at work and each night at home, I scanned craigslist and pets.com checking for pets. I saw rats and cats and bats. Okay, not bats. I read about goats and pigs and hens. There were snakes, lizards, tortoises. Even tarantulas. Ick. And of course there were dogs. Great Danes to Chihuahuas. Mutts of every breed.
I checked listings with and without photos. I even contacted a few people. But I had no luck. Until... At the beginning of February, I contacted a couple in Arlington, WA about a dog that they could not keep. The guy was in the navy and was about to be deployed to Iraq. And his girlfriend was pregnant and moving back to Ohio to be with her family. They said that they had rescued the dog from a kill shelter and didn't want to bring him back to that shelter.
After a few e-mails regarding the particulars, they sent a picture of their puppy, Buddy.
One look, and I was hooked. And when I showed Joseph, he was hooked too.
The only thing left to do was to see if Cleo accepted him. We planned a trip to Green Lake, which was approximately half way between our house and theirs. We would meet near the play fields.
When we arrived, we immediately recognized Buddy. Attached to him were a very young couple who were most likely no more than 20. We greeted each other and then let Cleo sniff Buddy's behind. She did. Then sniffed his face. She told him in dog speak not to piss her off and then she started sniffing the ground. We looked at Buddy's caretakers; they looked at us. We all shrugged. We all figured it was a success.
After transferring Buddy's crate and his other amenities to our car, we said goodbye and loaded the two dogs into the car. We rolled down the windows. Cleo took one side; Buddy took the other. And there's never been a problem since.
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